


Knowledge (and chosen ignorance)

by AntisocialHistorian



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: I don't know where this was supposed to go, John is vulnerable, John knows exactly what's going on, Laszlo has feelings too and I thought I should highlight that, Laszlo is basically just afraid of emotional attachement, Laszlo is scarily similar to me, Laszlo is very aware of his feelings, M/M, and weirdly affectionate, he has a lot of issues thanks to his A+ childhood, he's just ignoring them because that's what he does, he's just resigned to playing by Laszlo's rules, the Alienist is tired, there's a correlation there, though he does that so often it isn't too annoying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntisocialHistorian/pseuds/AntisocialHistorian
Summary: Harvard had started the long chain of contained feelings.Knowledge was power to Laszlo, the highest value, he thought, should be attributed to knowledge. It had caused some issues for him though, as he liked to know everything he could and that meant decidely not ignoring potential feelings for his long time friend.Knowledge was power but chosen ignorance was bliss.





	1. Contemplation

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Alienist.
> 
> I've been reading in this fandom since April, which is when The Alienist actually dropped on UK Netflix, so I thought I'd give it a try.
> 
> Here's what my mind decided on.
> 
> *Laszlo is forty one at the time of the murders in the book, but I knocked off three years and made him thirty eight. No reason other than I hate the forty numbers with a passion.
> 
> I double checked the heights of Daniel and Luke, Luke being taller as he's six foot to Dan's 5'9. Two inches isn't too much. This will make sense later on despite it not being relevant now.

Harvard had been the origins of Laszlo Kreizler and John Schuyler Moore.

Even then, there wasn't any part of their friendship that was arguably conventional, apart from the friendship part, but Laszlo had given him another title in his head long ago, one that seemed more fitting than simple friends. Ignorance wasn't something well suited to Kreizler, and so he readily accepted the feelings that he had for his long time friend, but rather than act on the knowledge, he stored it. It was easier than a messy, complicated,  _illegal (_ the legal nature of it had never bothered him, but he tried to use it as another effective excuse) potential relationship and in all honesty he just didn't feel as if he would be well suited to an intimate relationship. 

Mary was less of a risk for him. Her company was enjoyable and he did love her to a degree, but Mary wasn't the one who featured in his dreams, Mary wasn't the one he wanted the most and preferred to all others, because Laszlo, he was old enough and wise enough to recognise his desires, however buried they were. Upon her death, it weighed heavier on him, a guilt that he would profess as illogical at any other time, because though he had loved Mary, he had used her. He had used her to make sure he wasn't alone in the world, a deeper part of him acknowledging it was a basic diversion technique to contain his growing feelings for his best friend; an even smaller and deeper part told him that he had done it to prove that he could successfully hold relationships, that it wasn't completely hopeless to attempt a relationship with John.

It was better to disregard that part of him. He wasn't fond or proud of that part of himself so he refused to interact with it. Over the years, Laszlo thought he had become adept and skilled at hiding his feelings, obscuring them with a facade designed to push people away because the more emotionally distant he was, the lesser chance of everyone,  _someone_ , finding out about what he truly wanted. Partially, it was because he didn't like to socialise and people didn't like him much either, but it was easier, easier to distance himself. John never allowed himself to be pushed away. Certainly, John would become angry, irate, cursing him and once, back in their college days, there was a physical altercation. Whatever he did, John bounced back, taking measures to fix their dented friendship, and whenever he did that, one simple observation was needed to see that the grumpy alienist was happier, lighter, more inclined to smile. Any sort of genuine smile was hard to wrangle from the prickly alienist and when it was a genuine smile, well that was a rare sight. His smiles were always directed at John, because of course, they had to be. It was easier to give out sarcastic smiles, humourless ones with no truth in them and he had simply smiled to ridicule them, on rare occasions, they were predatory in nature. Those smiles weren't easy to give to John. Even back in his Harvard days, which seemed so long ago, but in reality it wasn't eons ago, he had just turned thirty eight and Harvard wasn't something from a long forgotten, prehistoric age. The most genuine smiles were always directed at John, no matter how small or tiny they were as though his feelings were locked up in the shadows of his mind, there was never an effective way of hiding and containing them all.

Love was very problematic. 

The best way to deal with your problems was to, of course, ignore them. Providing you were Laszlo Kreizler. Now, Laszlo had fully intended to do that, but it was five thirty in the afternoon, and he hadn't any other tasks for the day, which was unusual, especially when he was now in demand for consulting on cases very unofficially, running the institute and deciding whether someone would face prison, a mental asylum or roam free on the streets. Insane murderers had decided to take a brief break and the Kreizler Institute hadn't much for him to do, only a handful of examinations and inspections of damaged property. It was unnerving having free time, particularly when he liked to work on something until either he was exhausted, and in that case, he didn't stop for simple exhaustion, or until he had fixed or used all possible resources on the issue. There was naturally his library and the piano but neither one were appealing as there wasn't a total distraction: it was just as easy to read or play the piano while the mind concentrated on something else. Reading wasn't a plausible idea as his mind would focus on feelings he didn't want to focus on rather than the content and that would resign him to having to constantly reread what he had zoned out on. 

Standing up, he walked over to the piano, lifting the lid and only touched the keys softly because he wasn't going to feel wistful about his arm, something that he was,  _should_ be over. Before he could apply gentle pressure to the key his hand had stopped on, a quiet knock on the living room door frame stopped him. Assuming it was Cyrus, he didn't look up and settled for asking,

"Did you need something Cyrus?"

"Try again,"

Recognising the voice, he lifted his head at a slowly, hand still ghosting over the keys, and looked at the man who held his affections.

"Ah, John. You look tired,"

"And a hello to you too Laszlo," John said, with a wry smile, and he could see John relax, release tension and being an alienist (and a caring friend of course) his interest was caught. Laszlo knew the impact their investigation had had on John but he had thought he was improving, had seemed like he was when Laszlo visited the week before, under a pretense that he was delivering a book on illustrations he thought was interesting. Perhaps he had been wrong, and naturally it wouldn't be the first time he was, no matter how hard it was to admit it, but John certainly looked worse for wear. Moving away from his piano, he took back his seat on the sofa, stiff and upright. He motioned for John to sit down and was surprised when John sat next to him, a break in how they normally conducted things. Usually, John would take a seat in the arm chair and they would chat idly, avoiding the issue and at the end, Laszlo would see his friend out, and if there was a little bit of longing, nobody ever needed to know. Schooling his face, he smiled at John, trying to think of a way to broach the subject of what had happened. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, surprisingly soft, deciding on the idea to leave John to tell him in his own time, because he knew John would. It was a new development, formed after the Santorelli murder, and the other boys. Though John had hidden his upset at not knowing the true instances of his best friend's injury, Laszlo had observed the issue, and they had agreed to tell each other a little more, more open. It had secretly pleased Laszlo, as though he didn't like to give too much of himself away, he was always eager to find out more about John, despite him knowing much of it already.

"I just thought I would drop by, see how things are. I was reading the paper yesterday, and there was a particularly gruesome murder at the back. I think it would interest you," John told him, tired and wan, slouching and leaning his head back onto the comfortable sofa cushion. Comfortable silence settled over them, neither of them feeling pressed to talk the time away. Laszlo retreated into his mind, thinking on various matters, one being the Kreizler Institute, another was the Santorelli murderer, because it wasn't something he was quite over yet, despite it being almost nine months since them. The fixation he had with solving the crime had stemmed from the knowledge that he shared many of his traits with Japheth Dury and it _scared him._ The man he had seen in the jail two days ago that was clearly a damaged man, belonging to an institute designed properly for him. There was John naturally and his latest case, the string of murders of young women that he had solved the week before, the day before he visited John with his book.

Once he withdrew from his deep thinking, he realised John had fallen asleep, the realisation that John was sleeping on his lap coming slightly later. He couldn't quite stop the instinctive movement he made to get away, but he stopped when John's breathing stuttered briefly, and he burrowed his head further into Laszlo's lap as said man looked down, mouth open with shock. The left side of his face was still visible, with a peaceful expression. It was an unusual turn of events, but not unwelcome. It was one of only a handful of times he had seen John asleep since Harvard, as John hadn't tended to stay over since Harvard, with Julia entering the picture and then later, with his frequent visits to nightly 'entertainment' that Laszlo had always disapproved of but kept his tongue, allowing John on his destructive path (he had tried to stop it in the end, otherwise he wouldn't have invited John on the straining case). Contrary to most works of fiction, John didn't look younger when he slept; he looked less stressed and healthier but he always looked his age, with a little furrow of his brow, that hadn't been there last time he had slept over. He liked that about John, though he wasn't sure why. Laszlo had rarely had any opportunity to place John under the observation he wanted, he wanted to observe without being the doctor he inherently was. Flicking eyes to the clock quickly, he saw it was no longer five thirty but six thirty in the evening, and raining, giving everything a darker, muted feel, surprising him as he didn't think he had been thinking too long. His gaze fell back to John and he ached,  _he ached_ because he loved John, more than cared to explain, and he didn't care, because he did love John,  _he did_ and he couldn't change that, he could find other people to love briefly, but it would  _always be John,_ but John shouldn't know, it was better with his chosen ignorance and he should be happy that he had John as a friend at least (but he  _wasn't_ ).

Similar to when he had softly touched the keys of his piano, he brushed his hand under John's eye lightly, using his thumb to trace the cheekbone, pausing as John shifted slightly and Laszlo, looking at John's awkwardly cramped form, knew that John was going to wake up aching. The selfish segment of him didn't try to move or rouse his friend because he  _liked_ John like he was, sleeping in his lap, vulnerability on display because you couldn't sleep and not be vulnerable. When he had involved John in the Santorelli murder, he had known it was going to be damaging to him, despite the admirable front he had maintained until the very end, but he had wanted John involved anyway, wanted John to discover what had shaped a murderer. He had trapped John within his own fixation and John had suffered for it. It had weighed on Laszlo for a while, but John had assured him that if he could take the journey with him again, he would.

John stirred slightly, and Laszlo halted his thumb, not wanting to have to explain it if his friend were to wake up. He didn't quite know how he was going to explain the situation regardless, but he was comfortable to allowed John to rest on him. Beginning to move his thumb again, he leaned his head back, similar to how John had earlier, and exhaled softly, frustrated with his emotional situation and closed his eyes.

"Laszlo?" John asked sleepily below him, and Laszlo's thumb froze again, and he hoped sincerely John would fall back to sleep because he didn't have an explanation, how  _could_ he explain it regardless? John looked up to his friend, who gradually looked down and John would've sworn that there was a tenderness in the brown eyes that met his, and if he looked closer, there was something else that he couldn't quite place or reconcile to his friend. 

"I hope you slept well," Kreizler said, the only thing that came to his mind. He went to withdraw his hand from John's face, but was met with a tired muffled protest as John turned his head and buried his face in Laszlo's lap once again. He didn't move, in hope that John would fall back to sleep yet, and not register what was happening.

Someone was on his side. 

John sighed, and slowly drifted back off into his own world. Eyes again closed and head tilted back, Laszlo was overcome with his own wave of tiredness. Lately, he had only been getting four or five hours of sleep, as the demand for his expertise grew and the Institute expanded further. Due to the growing demand, he had been staying up later in order to study and complete cases at the fastest rate he could. Sara also telephoned on occasion, providing professional insight, or as a social call. As he started dozing off, his mind told him it wouldn't be a good idea to fall asleep, not with his hand on John's face and John in his lap. Sleeping upright and stiff was going to make him ache just as much as John when he woke up, and he  _really_ didn't want that. But for now, he was tired and he wanted to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 Waking up to a dark room was confusing, and John wondered where he was, and why there was a warm-ish hand on his face that didn't feel unpleasant, and what his head was laying on. Looking up and moving his head slightly, he managed to make out the slumped, angled form of Laszlo, head tilted to the side with his hand resting on John's face.

So that's what the hand was.

Aching hit him soon after, and he sat up, displacing the warm, comforting hand, making a noise of displeasure at the loss of the comforting hand. The abrupt nature of him bolting up roused Laszlo, who let a quiet moan escape as he woke up to the same aching. Stretching, John tried to rid most of the aches that had developed from his awkward position.

"You're awake. I'm awake." Laszlo mumbled, accent thicker in his post waking up state. "You were asleep in my lap and I was stroking your cheekbone." There was a pause as they digested what Laszlo had mumbled while comprehending his situation. For once, Laszlo was too tired to take the words back, construe his words into meaning something else, as well as his actions.

"You were stroking my-"

"We can talk about this tomorrow. I'm tired and you fell asleep in my lap so I can assume you are too," like earlier, Laszlo squinted at his clock which had again changed, this time from six thirty to one am, the darkness obscuring him from seeing John's blush. "It's very late and everyone has retired for the night. You're welcome to one of the spare rooms unless you insist on trying to make your way home at this hour, and I would warn you, that's not very safe, especially with all the people we angered while pursing the Santorelli murder,"

Turning, he went to climb the stairs, tired and in need of more sleep but John stopped him.

"Could I.. stay with you?" John asked, looking rather vulnerable, similar to how he had looked earlier while sleeping. Unusually affectionate and emotional with tiredness, Laszlo wasn't as adverse to the idea as he normally would've been because he could afford to show John some love, he couldn't pine all of his life and contemplate potential rejection if he hadn't made any effort to begin with.

"As long as you don't stop me from sleeping, then I can't see why not,"

"You're letting me sleep  _in_ your room and  _in_ your bed?" John inquired in utter disbelief, tiredness still making him a little hazy. 

"I believe that's what I agreed to unless you're planning to change your mind." Motioning for John to follow him, they left the living room and climbed the stairs, the earlier sleepiness settling back in comfortably. John took to counting the rooms that he passed before Laszlo stopped, and surprisingly, he hadn't put himself at the very end of the corridor, but just before the middle, only slightly to the left. There weren't many rooms on the floor Laszlo slept on, and Cyrus and Stevie had their own quarters downstairs. It shouldn't have been as pleasing information as it was for John. Opening the door, Laszlo walked into the mostly clean room and though it was mostly clean, Laszlo was interwoven clearly. Books were randomly placed around the room, the bed was unmade from where he had been in a hurry to work in the morning and hadn't thought to pull the covers over, messily folded clothes sat on top of the wardrobe, waiting to be put into the cabinet itself. Walking in further, John looked around the room, taking it all in from the light that was struggling to make it through the window curtain.

"You don't have night clothes." Laszlo stated, holding a finger up to John as he went to answer. "You'll borrow some of mine, though they'll be too short. Not by too much, but still short,"

"That's fine Laszlo, it isn't a big affair," 

Letting a small huff of amusement escape, Laszlo crossed over to his wardrobe and took out a slightly bigger and baggier set that he owned, as it he liked to wear looser clothing when he was alone. The cling of fabrics was truly awful. Taking another set in his other hand, he reached out and placed the longer set on the bed. 

"That should fit you adequately enough,"

"I'll go and change somewhere else,"

"That's much less efficient, and I wouldn't be seeing anything new. I've already seen you shirtless, we used to share a dorm," Laszlo dismissed, as it  _was_ more efficient, but it also happened to be a way to look at his friend under a different circumstance, because normal certainly wasn't applicable to the current situation. John nodded his agreement and the two of them changed quietly, both missing the quick glances they gave each other because if they did catch each other, that would be traumatically awkward. John was still trying to make sense of what was going on, because when had  _Laszlo_ been so emotionally capable and free? And the interest he was openly showing in John was also new, but John felt no need to stop it and it was pleasant, warming. Maybe it wasn't all unrequited, Laszlo thought, as John willingly wanted to share a bed with him, didn't want to leave. There were two other bedrooms he could've used, one specifically for him when he did stay over on the rare occasion, but he had turned that room down in favour of staying with him.

As Laszlo hadn't actually been wearing shoes, and he had been aided by John when undressing due to his inability to undo all of his shirt buttons, he had finished undressing and then dressing in pyjamas first, despite how dark the room actually was, and slipped into his blankets, resisting the urge to bury himself in them like he usually did, instead shuddering because the sheets and mattress were freezing. The safety and growing warmth of the blankets was quickly lulling him to sleep as John cursed in the background trying to dress in the dark but being unaccustomed to it, because unlike Laszlo, he knew how to use a lamp. A few minutes later, as Laszlo had nearly fallen asleep entirely, John also got under the covers, missing the hand that Laszlo had had on him earlier, because he liked being touched by his 'friend' but the overwhelming smell on the sheets acted as a reassuring layer. Laszlo seemed to pick up on it, and shifted out of his now warm spot to the cooler part of the mattress, shuddering again as the coolness swept through him. Unsure of where he should place his arm he settled for tugging John to face him, which John did, a look of surprise on his face. It was even more surprising than the revelation that Laszlo had night wear that fit John.

Unlike earlier, Laszlo burrowed himself into John's chest, enjoying the heat he was taking from John and the soothing comfort it gave. He was laying on his right arm, left tucked tightly against his rib cage in the subconscious effort to protect it.

John entangled his legs with Laszlo's to make it more comfortable and easier to sleep, his free arm at the top of the man he was sharing the bed with, because placing it anywhere else for a prolonged period of time would only serve to hurt the arm, while he folded the other to sleep on.

Listening to the evening out of Laszlo's breathing, John couldn't stop the worry that had trickled in about what would happen when they woke up properly. Maybe it wasn't hopeless to believe they might go somewhere, and it that last conscious thought of the night, John joined his more-than-friend in sleep.

The two of them were entwined as they slept, and maybe, maybe, Laszlo had finally given up his diversion techniques.

 


	2. Scars a Father Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though the night was restful for a change, and demons were silenced, there's still that small matter of talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still do not own The Alienist.
> 
> It was referenced in both the Alienist TV and books that Laszlo's father was an abusive man, verbally as well as physically. There's mentions to that, just in case anyone doesn't want to read that. I based his father off what I remember from the books, because though his father is less terrible in the show, he was still an awful person, even if Laszlo managed to gain some closure in the final episode.

It had been eight months and thirteen days since John and Laszlo were both able to sleep without horrifying images crossing their dreams. 

Despite having less sleep, Laszlo woke first, trying to block out the light that had woken him in John's chest, before realising properly  _that it was John's chest_ and the alarm bells on his head were manned as the events of the night before came back, and the memory of him cuddling John was mortifying as was the lack of care he had taken to carefully conceal the affection he held. The cuddling part wasn't exactly a  memory as he was still cuddling John, and it was as comfortable as he remembered. There wasn't a way to extract himself from the bed without waking John because of how they had tossed and turned. Laszlo was now lying on John's outstretched arm and that arm was probably losing feeling, but Laszlo didn't want to move because it was comfortable. Really, he just didn't want to move, despite all logic and sense telling him to slip out, and engage himself in work, avoiding John at all costs.

His legs were caught in between John's, the same as it had been the night before, but instead of Laszlo cradling his left, bad arm to himself, keeping the final piece of himself unavailable, it had come to rest in the small gap between John and himself. His other arm was serving to prop and comfort his bad one, while John's left arm was still slung over him, higher up than it had been originally. The shirt he had lent had hitched up a little, exposing some of John's chest, and that wasn't a complaint that Laszlo would register with John because the body under the shirt was never not going to be a focal point for him.

Regardless of the welling panic, Laszlo stayed and watched John. 

He stayed.

 

* * *

 

 

Breakfast was awkward. It had taken half an hour for John to wake up, and he wasn't expecting to be staring into the brown eyes of his closest friend, and Laszlo wasn't entirely prepared to face a comprehensive and well rested John. In all honesty, John had expected Laszlo to leave and bury the incident some where in his mind that he wouldn't visit. It was warming and it invoked hope that Laszlo was finally ready to admit to John what he wanted. 

Instead, Laszlo had deflected all questions and told John that they would speak after they had eaten and cleared everything away. It irked John to have to follow by Laszlo's command, but he was wise enough to know that if he didn't, Laszlo would simply shut down all questions and the event would pass, burned into memory but never talked about.

Was there a point in breakfast? No.

There wasn't food involved either, rather, Laszlo sat and sipped his coffee (John was sure he was getting more when he looked away) whilst reading a book that John swore he shouldn't have. They had dressed in silence, John aiding him slightly with buttons that he hadn't managed do and other small things that had frustrated Laszlo to no end, but there was something distinctly less satisfying than helping Laszlo dress instead of undressing. Dressing together, John knew there wasn't any time for Laszlo to actually snag a book, but somehow he had managed it and it was baffling. There wasn't much to do, as Laszlo was drinking his coffee and John had declined food and drink, as he was impatient to get to  _the talking part._

The book was a means of avoiding John on Laszlo's part. He wasn't ready for premature questions, nor had he been able to come up with a plausible explanation as to why he had cuddled John, shared the same bed and stroked his cheekbone because strangely, that was the part that John couldn't quite comprehend. The lack of any plausible explanations of course left the option of the truth, but that method was something that Laszlo wasn't too keen on, preferring to lock everything back into containment. Unlike his policy from the night before, he had decided that it would be better to not try or make a move on John as rejection was much harder to deal with than that of deathbed regrets. Like most things though, time ran out with the coffee.

"I presume you would still like to talk?" Laszlo asked John, clearing his throat when it came our gruffer than intended and tilted his head slightly. John shot him an incredulous look.

"Yes, I still want to talk. What in the world would possess me not to?" 

"We'll talk in my study," Laszlo decided, motioning for John to follow him. Not waiting, Laszlo walked off. John huffed in irritation but he followed.

He followed. 

Even though Laszlo had tried to burn through time, he couldn't delay it much longer, and the shutting of the study door signalled it was answer time. Laszlo opened him mouth, but in a rare moment, he didn't know what to say and so closed it again, looking helpless. 

"I know you well Laszlo, and I'd love to say the best out of everyone you know. I know the difference between your close friendship and your romantic affection, and stroking my cheekbone and allowing me to sleep in your bed with you isn't the way you convey friendship. Why wouldn't you just tell me, and save so much trouble?" John said softly, tired again, not willing to fight Laszlo at every avenue like he had done so often before. Laszlo breathed in deeply, confusing John who didn't quite understand what was going on.

"I had nothing to tell you, nothing that seemed right or relevant to our relationship." A hot flash of irritation ran down John's spine, agitating him.

"I think that feelings that extend beyond friendship are matters that are very relevant to our relationship. There isn't a point fighting this now, so  _why didn't you tell me_?"

Laszlo looked at John for a long moment, trying to find an alternate route. 

But he  _owed_ it to John. It wasn't what he wanted. It was what he owed.

"I had a.. troublesome upbringing. Perhaps that isn't the right word, but there isn't an apt way to explain my family. You know, now, how cruel my father could be but I went to lengths to hide the true extent of it from you. I live with the physical disability of his love, testament to the man he seems to be. However, he wasn't a purely physical man. My father was fond of telling me that I wasn't going to be loved, and that I would always be an impostor and I confess, I believe it." Laszlo laughed bitterly.

"Not many have taken to me, even for distant friendship, and then, at Harvard, we met, we became friends and then extremely close friends. I had never truly experienced that. My workings were that, soon enough you would leave, because you would have to at a point as nobody is ever permanent in life. Since the beginning of our friendship, I've repeatedly pushed and offended you, so who in this world has the best reason to leave, but you? Perhaps it was the fear that my father instilled into me but vulnerability wasn't an option, and so I feared admitting my feelings to you, because there is always a chance that you will leave, and then again, I would be alone, an imposter like my father told me. I couldn't admit I was in love with you when I couldn't believe that people were capable of loving me, especially with all the risks that would come from a potential relationship. I'm not implying that you wouldn't be worth it, but admitting what I had concealed had a greater chance of pushing you away, while keeping my silence ensured you wouldn't leave earlier than I had prepared for. I do not profess it to be entirely my father's fault, I know that some of the blame lays with me. But my father remains a strong influence to my thoughts, how I react. With you, it was easier to maintain silence,"

John stared at his friend, who had bared his soul and John had never truly experienced such a surge of affection so strong, his heart aching with every wound that Laszlo's father had inflicted upon him. The importance of what Laszlo had said wasn't lost on him. This was probably the only time that his friend had ever told someone such things, had opened up like he had just, because he was a reserved being by nature, emotionally distant and serious. It had taken quite a toll on Laszlo, who was usually able to separate everything out and tuck it away. Head again tilted, he was measuring his breathing, and John would say that his friend was trying to fight back the emotions that had risen with explaining just how poorly his life had started. The irritation that John had briefly held vanished, and he couldn't help but walk over to the older man and engulf him in a hug. At first, Laszlo tried to push out the embrace, wanting to be left alone until he could put on his confident and distant facade, because while it was genuine at times, Laszlo needed a way to escape what he thought was John's pity. 

John had been told about Laszlo's final visit to his father, and while it had been cathartic for his friend, it hasn't solved all the underlying issues that Laszlo was so adept at hiding. His father had left a mark on the son, and it was clear that while Laszlo had healed, he still dealt with the harsh words issued by a parent that was supposed to love him. Looking at Laszlo, _looking_ at him when he was so clearly vulnerable and open displayed a clear belief in those words that his father had said, and while John was no psychologist, he could see that they ran deep.

Laszlo stopped fighting the hug that John had swept him into, blinking, and laying his head against John's chest, grasping his shirt in a tight grip, hand shaking slightly, and allowing himself to be placated (as if John was going to do any less). It was the warmth and the overwhelming sense of John that had helped to settle him down, and gradually, Laszlo stopped measuring his breathing, back to breathing normally now, as he wasn't on the verge of tears.

"I can't promise that I'll never leave you. That doesn't mean that I'm going to leave you willingly," John hastened to add. "You may not form friendships, and you certainly tear people with their opinion on you, but the key matter is who decides to stick with you. When you insult and push me away, I'm naturally going to be offended first, but it doesn't mean I'm going to  _leave_ for something that's so trivial, and normally easily gotten over and forgotten. A few comments you make do sting on the occasion though it's nothing that could convince me to abandon you. Your father left his scars and fears on you, but if you were to look, many people have stayed for you. Stevie, Cyrus and me. Even Sara. Emotionally suffocating yourself will do no good, but letting people in on your thoughts will,"

John looked at the man below him, who was still grasping his shirt and resting his head against him with a childish form of tiredness that made the ends of John's lips quirk up, despite the seriousness of the situation. Deciding to push the boundary, he placed his hand on Laszlo's cheek, very similar to how Laszlo had the night before, and felt a surge of satisfaction when Laszlo didn't protest, and allowed John to touch, pleasure flowing over him as John moved to curiously touching his beard.

Then, John had a realisation of his own.

"You said you were in love," he said, pulling back from the tight hug to look Laszlo in the face.

"I..."

"You said you were in love with  _me_ ,"

"I don't recall that," Laszlo denied as he flushed, a light pinkish red that John was a little proud of provoking.

"Laszlo Kreizler. You genuinely just confessed your love for me first. And apparently  _I'm_ the sentimental one," John teased, lightening the previously heavy mood, and enjoying the darkening of the pinkish red shade that Laszlo had originally turned. "Did you mean it?" He asked after a moment of silence, feeling as insecure as Laszlo was, and wondering if it was a heat of the moment thing, or something that was genuine.

Laszlo sent John a cryptic look (which received a raised eyebrow in return) before exhaling and linking his hands together.

"Yes," he admitted, so quietly and softly that John could have told himself that he imagined it, but then Laszlo reiterated it, louder but not by much, and  _there,_ something finally felt right. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know. Am I supposed to do something?" John asked, a little lost on what the next step was.

"Don't ask  _me,_ I'm hopelessly inept with romance," Laszlo said, looking just as lost, if not a little more. "You're the one with all the experience,"

"I doesn't mean I know what to do!"

They continued bickering like that, and later, ten minutes or so, before Laszlo voiced an uncertain suggestion.

"Could we kiss?" and the awkwardness crawled up his spine as John gave a half smile and nodded. Laszlo, ever the one to be in control instigated it.

It was an overwhelming explosion of sensations. John was again, touching his beard, running a smooth hand over the rough hair, and the softness and warmth of kissing John set a happiness burning in his chest because it was what he  _wanted_ and he wasn't denying it, and it helped that John knew how to thoroughly debauch Laszlo. Hands ruffled hair, and then held the waist and then pulled the other in impossibly close, in a hazy mesh of overflowing emotion. Laszlo  _liked_ it.

"I forgot to tell you that I think I love you too," John said quietly, lips slightly swollen but happy, happy with Laszlo, and Laszlo unreasonably contented.

In the end, one stayed. The other followed. 

And that led to the most awkward get together possible, but a get together nevertheless. Though the both of them had clear issues, that was something for both of them to heal and fix. 

The story ends now, with Laszlo kissing John again, just because he could, with a nicely shaped future. A future that would no doubt have many rough turns, because it was John and Laszlo, but at least they would enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little arc, I'm not usually one for multi chapter series.
> 
> I'm actually contemplating a third chapter, but for now, we'll leave it with this and see what you guys want.
> 
> The father bit may be out of character but it takes a lot longer and more than one visit to recover from scars that abuse can leave mentally, hence Laszlo's struggle.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you found this enjoyable.
> 
> I honestly just wrote a few words, and then kept adding here and there, and over a few days, it became a lot easier to write, so originally, this piece had no aim. Still doesn't!
> 
> I should thank a few authors, such as misanthropiclycanthrope as though I tend to rarely review, I am heavily motivated by works. Yay for finally ditching my laziness.
> 
> I've already written the second chapter, so just tell me when you want it up, and I'll try and get it up within two days, but education leads to excessive amounts of work, so don't quote me on it, because it could be three days.
> 
> Characterisation isn't my strength, so I apologise for it. Don't tear me too harshly if it sucked.


End file.
